


Handle With Care

by doctor__idiot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom Dean, Dirty Talk, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mention of Bondage, Mention of fisting, Oral Sex, Shameless Smut, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 11:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9382226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor__idiot/pseuds/doctor__idiot
Summary: The alcohol was pure agony as it seeped into the open flesh and Sam’s teeth made a disgusting grinding noise when he pressed them together against the pain. Forehead furrowed, Dean fished some gauze out of their first-aid kit and pressed it over the wound with careful fingers, smoothing it and taping it down.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This took me for-fucking-ever to finish. It's sort of an altered version/a continuation of one of the pieces I wrote for 12 Days of Wincestmas.
> 
> Disclaimer: As always, just the idea is mine. This is unbeta'd and I lost patience with the revision process so bear with me.

Dean’s hands were shaking. That fact in itself was freaking Sam out a little because Dean hands were never shaking.

Despite the unsteady fingers, Dean managed to make a decent job of piercing Sam’s skin with the needle, placing the stitches close to the edge of the wound. The cut wasn’t long but it was deep and Sam had to flatten his breathing because with every movement of the chest, it spilled more blood.

“Dean.” Sam was surprised at the strength in his own voice but his brother didn’t seem to have heard him. “Dean, look at me.”

Dean gave a start, as if he had forgotten Sam was even there. He looked spooked, out of it. His fingers tied a knot with the end of the thread on autopilot, pulling on the skin.

Sam gritted his teeth against a hiss. He took hold of Dean’s wrists before Dean could pull away and disappear into the bathroom under the pretense of washing off the blood. Only it wasn’t entirely pretense because there truly was a lot of it. Sam grimaced.

“Dean, I’m not dead. I’m right here, look at me.”

Dean blinked a few times, wide-eyed, as if he was only now seeing Sam properly. “Yes,” he said, “Yes, I know.”

His voice was scratchy, like he had something stuck in his throat. Sam wasn’t going to mention it. He gently shook Dean’s wrist. “I need you to snap out of it.”

“What?”

“This, whatever stupor you’re in right now, snap out of it. We’ve still got work to do.”

Dean inhaled deeply. “Not dead,” he said, muttering to himself, and Sam hadn’t seen his brother this rattled in a very long time even if they dealt with a lot of close calls. Some were closer than others. Some hit harder than others.

“No, not dead.” Sam took Dean’s face in his hands, pressing his pinkies into the underside of Dean’s jaw to make him look up. “I’m not going anywhere. You wanna tell me what’s going on in your head?”

“I’m…” It didn’t look like Dean was going to continue the sentence. He closed his eyes, his jaw working, teeth grinding. His breathing was even but too artificially so, as if he had to work hard to keep it that way, stop himself from hyperventilating.

It was Sam’s first impulse to pull away when Dean kissed him suddenly. Despite the fact that he had been thinking about doing that for weeks, he was taken by surprise. But he stayed and his hands tightened against Dean’s cheeks, fingers digging in next to his ears, drawing his brother in closer.

Dean’s mouth was wet from his tongue licking his lips and quivering slightly. Sam kept his lips soft, countering Dean’s assault with something gentler. He stroked his fingers through Dean’s short hair until his brother stopped shaking and let Sam control the kiss.

Dean sighed with content, his fingers slowly loosening their death grip on Sam’s biceps, and Sam reluctantly pulled back, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smile. “You back with me now?”

“Yeah.” Dean cleared his throat, tilted his face to hide the soft flush creeping up. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Sam brought their foreheads together. “Don’t you dare be sorry. Not for that.” He was talking about both the kiss and the freakout.

Dean’s hands briefly ghosted along his naked shoulders before he withdrew. Without looking at Sam, he said, “Gotta finish dressing that.”

Sam didn’t argue because he knew it was futile. Besides, Dean was right. He wasn’t exactly keen on a full-blown infection.

The alcohol was pure agony as it seeped into the open flesh and Sam’s teeth made a disgusting grinding noise when he pressed them together against the pain. Forehead furrowed, Dean fished some gauze out of their first-aid kit and pressed it over the wound with careful fingers, smoothing it and taping it down.

Sam blinked against the wetness in his eyes that the pain had brought up. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely.

Dean made a grunting noise that universally translated to ‘Don’t mention it’. He re-packed the kit neatly and shoved it back into his duffel bag.

“We should still have some grade-A painkillers around. You’ll need them.”

Again, Sam wasn’t about to argue. It could only end in two ways: Dean forcing the pills down his throat and probably injuring both of them in the process, or Sam biting his way through the pain, sleeping badly, only to cave after all in the end. Might as well save himself the trouble.

“Dean?”

“No, I don’t wanna talk about it. I wanna get you into bed so you can heal and then I wanna shower and get a couple’a hours myself, okay?”

Sam should have figured it was no use. Couldn’t blame a guy for trying.

Dean busied himself by rifling though his bag, shoving stuff into it and pulling things out of it without rhyme or reason, busying himself. His hands might have appeared steady to someone who wasn’t looking for the tremor in them.

Sam got up, one hand pressed to his chest, trying not to move too quickly, and gently took a bunched-up shirt from his brother’s hands. “Who said I want to talk?”

Dean looked up at him, his expression taut with something akin to pain. “Sam, please.”

“Please what, Dean? Don’t gimme that crap about being brothers again, I know you don’t give a shit about what people think.”

“It’s just … wrong.” It sounded absurdly lame, even as he said it, but Dean turned away, conversation over, _done_. Sam reached out a hand to grip Dean's biceps, to keep him from walking away. The move pulled on the stitches in his chest and he grimaced. Dean’s eyes flickered down to the wound, his expression softening.

Sam sighed. _Don’t pretend we have the same moral compass as other people._ “Why won’t you tell me what’s really going on?”

Dean looked like he wanted to extricate himself from Sam hesitated, afraid of making Sam’s injury worse. Sam might actually be willing to exploit that. “Why can’t you just drop it?”

“Because you kissed me. Tell me that doesn’t mean anything.”

“That was a mistake. I wasn’t … thinking.”

Sam would have groaned in frustration if it wouldn’t have hurt his chest. As it was, he settled for grinding his teeth, hissing through them, “Exactly. You weren’t thinking, you were scared. You just … acted.” 

He inhaled deeply, as much as the stitched would allow him, calming himself down because he was getting antsy. His chest stung and Dean wasn’t making of this any easier for them. 

“Tell you what. I’ll drop it if you can look me in the eyes and tell me you don't want this. ’s gotta be believable.”

Dean’s face contorted into a grimace. He turned his face away, down, then his eyes zeroed in on Sam’s. “I don’t want this.”

Sam raised his right eyebrow. “That was pathetic.”

Dean’s face drew taut, anger rising up in him, bubbling to the surface. That was good. Sam could work with anger.

Dean pulled his arm out of Sam’s hold and the corners of his mouth turned down, his forehead creasing, voice was barely controlled. “I don’t need a goddamn reason to say no, Sam. _Leave it_.”

It was difficult to remain unfazed in the face of Dean's anger and it would have taken a better man than Sam to manage it. “For Christ’s sake,” he hissed back, “Why are you being so stubborn?"

Dean’s eyes widened nearly comically, his mouth fell open. “ _Me_? _I’m_ being stubborn?”

Heat flared up inside of Sam and he needed an outlet _right now_ or he was going to burst. “God _dammit_ , Dean, I’d thought we finally found something _good_ in all of the bad.” A laugh wrenches out of him but it’s miles from amusement. “Something _worth_ all the other shit we gotta deal with. Don’t think for one fucking second that I’m giving that up again just because you can’t handle the _immorality_.”

“It was just sex, Sam, don’t make a big deal out of it.”

Dean’s voice was so cold, so far away, and it made Sam’s chest hurt with a whole different kind of pain. “No, it wasn’t and you know it.” His voice had gone quiet now, more upset, less anger. Less of a storm. “‘Just sex’ is you picking up a girl in a bar when you wanna blow off steam. Don’t make it cheap.”

Dean stepped closer, jutting his chin stubbornly into Sam’s face. He smelled of sweat and lingering blood, salt and copper blended together, not entirely masking the underlying spicy scent inherent to Sam’s big brother. Sam wanted nothing more than to bury his fingers in the dirty-blond hair and smash their mouths together, opening Dean up until he was soft and responsive and completely without resistance.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Sam,” he said now, “Except that it can’t happen. You’re medicated and in pain, you’re not thinking clear right now.”

“What if I wasn’t?”

“Wasn’t what?”

“Medicated and in pain. Would you give it a try then?”

Dean hesitated one heartbeat too long. “Don’t make a difference,” he grated, “You’re my little brother. Ain’t happening.”

_God, you’re so full of shit._

“It’s already happened.” Sam wasn’t ready to pull any punches and he watched – in a detached sort of way – how his brother flinched.

“I know.”

He put his hands on Sam’s chest to gently push him again, to bring some space between them, and only belatedly realized his mistake. Sam clasped his forearms before he could pull them away, effectively immobilizing him because Dean could neither push nor pull now without hurting Sam.

Dean’s shoulders slumped. “Lemme go, Sam. Please.”

“No.”

Dean exhaled. It was shaky and Sam could feel the brush of hot air against his neck. “Sam. Please.”

Sam, right then and there, almost felt sorry for his brother. But not sorry enough. “I wish you’d let me hear you beg like that when I’ve got you naked.”

Dean’s eyes widened, his entire body quivering with the force of a shudder. His eyes slipped closed. He was radiating resignation. “ _Jesus_ , don’t–”

“Gotcha.” Sam’s mouth stretched into a grin. He swore he could feel Dean’s quickening heartbeat in the palm resting against his chest.

“Asshole.”

“I know.” Sam smiled. “Why won’t you tell me what’s really bothering you?”

Dean’s eyes blinked open, roaming around the room, looking anywhere but Sam's face, which was an accomplishment in itself since there was virtually no distance between them.

“I liked it.” The words left Dean's mouth in a burst of air. Sam could feel it warm against his neck.

His face split into a grin. “I know. Me too.”

“No, I mean... I don’t just mean the sex. I mean the ... physicalities. I mean, what you did and what I did and…” 

He wasn’t making sense. Sam stared at him, blank-faced.

Dean exhaled in frustration, shifting his weight from his left leg to his right. He was fidgeting. “I liked getting fucked, Sam.”

“Okay. Why’s that a bad thing?”

Dean’s eyes flashed up at him, then turned away again and this time Sam really did groan, even if it hurt. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Don't tell me this is some of your macho bullshit, you’re too old for that.”

Dean grumbled, “Thanks.” He sighed. “It’s not what you think. ’s not about that.”

Sam really _looked_ at his brother then, his uneasy eyes, his stiff posture, and for the first time he was actually able to see and _recognize_ the reluctance in his features for what it was. Sam didn’t want to call the glint in Dean’s eyes fear but he couldn’t find a more suitable word. It wasn’t news to anyone that there wasn’t much Dean could stand less than making himself vulnerable to anyone. That he admitted to Sam what he just had bordered on a miracle.

“It really bothers you.” But his thought were more along the lines of, _Why didn’t I notice?_

“I don’t want it to.”

“What _do_ you want?” Sam adjusted his hold on Dean’s wrist, stroked his thumb against the pale inside of it, over the beat of a too-quick pulse. Despite the tenderness of the touch, Dean didn't try to pull away. “What do you _really_ want?”

“I…” Dean swallowed, licked his lips. Steeling himself. “I want to do it again?”

“Is that a question?”

“Yes. No. Don’t play games.”

Sam shook his head, said, “I’m not. I wanna make sure we’re on the same page. What do you want?”

“Christ, Sam, we shouldn’t– I shouldn’t ... want–“

Sam let go of Dean’s hand and placed three of his fingers gently over Dean’s mouth, silencing him. “Don’t think. This doesn’t have to be it. We can just ... try it out. Can you do that for me? Can you give it a try?”

“Why is this so important to you?”

“Why—” Sam shook his head in exasperation, “You really don’t see it?”

Dean tilted his head to the side, eyebrows drawn and obviously trying very hard to follow Sam’s train of thought. The light from the window hit the tips of his hair, making them sparkle gold while leaving his face mostly in the shadows and, for a moment, it took Sam’s breath away. 

“See what?”

“This thing, this ... whatever it is, it’s the best thing that’s happened in a _long_ time, Dean. I haven’t had a good relationship since Jess, and that was so long ago it sort of feels like a dream to me sometimes.” Images of the blond-haired girl invaded his mind, laughing, _fading_. He had long forgotten how her voice had sounded, how she had smelled, and it had scared him to death. He had stopped grieving a long time ago.

“I know I loved her,” he went on, “but I don’t really remember how that felt. Everything else, the darkness, the demons, all the deaths, they're overshadowing everything. Call me a girl if you want but we’ve always been each other’s anchor and now there’s the chance that we can be even more than we already are and regardless of how that’s probably a monumentally bad idea, I want it so bad I can’t breathe sometimes.”

The words had poured out of him and left him breathless. He was gulping in air as if he was drowning and it actually felt a little like he was. 

Dean’s jaw was working visibly. His eyes held Sam’s, mutual awareness that they were doomed one way or another, downward spiral incoming. “You’re right,” he said, voice hoarse, “This is probably the worst idea we’ve ever had.”

Sam smiled, tiny curve of his mouth, subtle but there. “I know. Could be the best, too. So … how about it?”

The crease between Dean’s eyebrows slowly softened as he slowly nodded. “Alright. Okay.”

Sam felt his own shoulders sag with the release of tension. He breathed, “Thank you.”

Dean’s laugh sounded a little watery but Sam wasn’t about to mention it. He took his brothers face into his hands and closed the space between their mouths. Slowly, so Dean could still pull away and out if he wanted to.

Dean stayed put. His palms stroked up Sam’s chest and held on to his shoulder while his lips opened against Sam’s, unhurried and almost sweet.

Sam cupped his hand around the underside of Dean’s jaw. “You done being stubborn?”

“Fuck you.” Dean’s voice was soft around the insult, his mouth sucking gently at Sam’s bottom lip.

Sam chuckled quietly. “I mean it,” he said, his thumb stroking down the length of Dean’s neck. “I need you to say it. I don’t wanna take advantage of you without realizing it.”

Dean’s lips twitched. “Would you take advantage of me if you knew you were doing it?” His fingers were playing with the hair at the nape of Sam’s neck, making him shiver. 

“Smartass. You know what I meant.”

A heavy sigh. “Yes, Sam. Of course it’s yes. It was always going to be yes.”

Sam’s brows drew together. “Then why did you–?” He shook his head. It didn’t matter. He had Dean where he wanted him. It didn’t matter.

Except, it did. But Sam thought he understood now. His brother had needed him to make the first step, and the second one, too, so he could feel this didn’t involve him as much as it did. Which was ridiculous, of course, but that was Dean right there. Infuriating. Beautiful and smart and good at heart but infuriating. 

“It’s just me,” Sam said, trying very hard to keep his voice from sounding frustrated, “You don’t have to put up a charade for anyone. I know you and I know you want this just as much as I do.”

Dean raised a hand and tucked a piece of loose hair behind Sam’s ear, his eyes following the movement of his hand as if he was marveling at the fact that he was actually capable of such a tenderness. Dean would deny it to the day he died but Sam knew perfectly well how inherently tactile his brother was, more than Dean was probably aware of. 

“Sometimes it’s difficult _because_ it’s you, y’know,” he admitted quietly, “I’m trying to get better at this equal partners thing but you’re still my little brother and there are some things that just ain’t okay.”

“You mean, it’s not okay that you love getting fucked in the ass by your little brother.”

Dean made a small noise, his breath stuttering. He actually laughed a little when he asked, “Since when you got such a dirty mouth?”

Sam shot back, “Since when’re you such a prude?”

“I’ll show you prude.” Dean had the nerve to look indignant. Sam could feel fingers digging into his shoulder.

He smirked. “Please do.”

“Sam, are you flirting with me?”

Wrapping one arm around Dean’s waist, he tugged until Dean was pressed up right against him, their mouths much closer together than they had been a mere two seconds ago.

“What if I am?”

Dean inhaled, said, “Stop it.”

“Make me.”

“Worst line ever, little brother.”

Sam kissed him then, curbing any further quips. As much fun as the bantering was, he needed _more_ , wanted to feel Dean as close as he could get him. He settled his hands on Dean’s hips, letting the tips of his fingers slip underneath his brother’s T-shirt.

Muttering against Dean’s mouth, “Is there a reason you’re wearing so many clothes?”

“Yeah.” It was immensely satisfying to Sam that Dean was out of breath, voice wavering slightly. “It’s fucking freezing.”

They hadn’t managed to get the heat up in the motel room but Sam hadn’t even noticed that it was, in fact, pretty chilly. He had been too worked up from the hunt, adrenaline working against exhaustion and cold.

“Right, that.”

As if to emphasize his point, Dean snuck his cold fingers into Sam’s jeans, teasing them along the waistband. Sam didn’t manage to suppress a shiver.

Dean started working open the button and fly. “If you say anything along the lines of ‘Let me warm you up’, I swear I will leave you high and dry and go to bed by myself.”

Sam burst out laughing and muffled it against the side of Dean’s neck. It pulled at his aching chest but it felt good to laugh. “You know,” he said when he had himself back under control, “I wasn’t. I promise your position as King of Cheesy Pick-up Lines is safe.”

“Damn right,” Dean nodded, “Would you mind shutting up and taking off your clothes now?”

“Not at all.”

Sam undid his fly and shimmied out of his jeans. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed Dean’s eyes fixed on the gauze on Sam's chest, stark white against tanned skin.

Tracing his index finger around the edges of the tape, Dean warned, “If you rip your stitches, I’m gonna kill you.”

“You’re quick with the threats tonight. What’s up with that?”

Dean wasn’t amused. “I mean it, Sam. I don’t wanna be the reason–”

“I know, I’ll be careful.” He stepped closer and worked to rid Dean of his own jeans. “I can be gentle.”

To his surprise, Dean leaned into him, running his knuckles along Sam’s lower ribs. He said quietly, “I know.”

The gentle touch made Sam shiver with anticipation. “Do you want me to be?”

Dean looked up at him, the green of his eyes so vivid, pupils larger than normal. He dropped his eyes back down to Sam’s chest, placing his palm carefully over the patched-up wound. “This time.”

It seemed vaguely like a promise and Sam definitely liked the sound of that. He made a non-committal sound and kissed Dean again, just for a moment, before ushering him over to the bed. 

“Get on your knees.” It was close enough to an order that Sam wasn’t entirely sure where the authoritative tone had come from.

Dean cocked his head, regarding Sam for a second or two, enough time for Sam to wonder if he had overstepped. But then Dean obliged, dipping the mattress with his knees, looking up at Sam.

The light fell just right for Dean’s lashes to cast a feathery shadow on his cheeks, making him appear weirdly young for a moment. He then proceeded to ruin the illusion by opening his mouth, gravelly voice taunting, “You coming or you just gonna stand there gawking the whole night?”

Sam slotted in right in front of his brother and his fingers tangled in Dean’s hair. He curled them to a fist in the short strands, tight enough to make Dean inhale sharply in surprise.

Instead of kissing him again, Sam tugged his brother’s head lower. Slowly, giving him enough time to pull away any time.

Dean’s eyes held Sam’s for as long as he could, his face betraying nothing. He didn’t protest, even placed his hands boldly on Sam’s thighs as his spine curved and he dipped low, taking Sam’s cock into his mouth for the first time in two months. Experimentally at first, sliding his tongue around the tip, and only sliding down further when Sam moaned.

Sam had lost count of how many times he had imagined exactly this. And yet, all of it paled in comparison to the real deal.

Dean was inexperienced but it didn't matter one bit to Sam. Just that wet heat and the fact that it was Dean, that was enough. He stroked his hand down Dean’s spine to the dip just above his tailbone, digging his fingertips into the smooth skin.

On an impulse, because he wanted to, he playfully smacked the side of Dean’s ass. “Up.”

Dean made a choking noise that could have been a laugh, could have been something else entirely. Either way, he complied and the complete absence of hesitation made tight heat coil in Sam’s belly. Pressing his chest into the mattress to stay down, to keep licking along Sam’s cock, Dean raised his hips up. Sam’s fingers slipped right between the globes of his ass.

It had mostly been an accident but his time the noise he made definitely was a moan and Sam sure as hell wasn’t going to remove his hand any time soon. The vibrations of Dean’s throat around his cock had Sam stringing together a colorful sequence of expletives.

He wet his fingers with his own spit and pushed one at first, then two, to the second knuckle into Dean’s hole.

Dean pulled away with a gasp, “Jesus, Sammy,” his forehead pressed against the inside of Sam’s thigh, fingers clutching Sam’s glutes. “That’s not– I need lube.”

“In a minute,” Sam promised, stroking his free hand soothingly through Dean’s hair and over his back, “You can take it.”

He felt the hot air of Dean’s breathing against his skin. It was barely audible when Dean whispered, “Fuck,” and his whole body shook when Sam added just the tip of his ring finger.

Dean didn’t move away. Didn’t even flinch. A strange sense of power surged up inside of Sam because even if Dean could pull away time he wanted to if it got too much, the addictive part was that he _didn’t._

“Look at me.” This time the words did sound like a command. 

It looked like it took some effort for Dean to turn his face, flushed cheek hot against the skin of Sam’s leg, and cast his eyes up. He was breathing fast. His lips were wet, shiny with spit and bitten red, and Sam had rarely seen something so sexy. No way was he ever going to miss out on this again.

“Come here.” His own voice was rough and breathless but softer this time, more like a request. 

For a split-second Dean looked like he wanted to make a snide remark. His brows twitched, his lips curved but almost immediately his face softened and he pushed himself up onto his knees. Sam drew him in for a kiss with a hand cupped around the back of his neck, pushing his three fingers a little deeper at the same time.

Dean bit down on Sam’s lip hard enough for it to split. It could have been an accident but Sam knew it wasn’t. Fair’s fair. 

The taste of blood, even his own, wasn’t exactly foreign to him and he wasn't bothered by it, not even by the little sting of the split. He just kept kissing Dean harder.

He eventually took pity on his brother despite those delicious whimpering sounds he kept making and retrieved the lube from the bottom of his duffel bag. 

Dean was flushed, his chest heaving, palms planted flat against the mattress. He was mind-numbingly beautiful like this, near docile and waiting for Sam to take all that he was offering.

“Come on, Sam. Some time today would be nice.” Even if he was still as bossy as ever. 

Sam lowered himself to the bed right behind his brother, his hard cock pressing impatiently against Dean’s tailbone and Dean didn’t bite back the tiny whining noise quickly enough. Sam hid his grin in the space between Dean’s shoulder blades.

He had his fingers slicked up, sliding three back into place before Dean could bitch at him again for wasting time.

“Ready?” he asked and the sound Dean made was almost a growl. 

“Been ready for the past eight weeks,” he pressed through gritted teeth, “Hurry up!”

Instead, Sam stopped what he was doing. He completely ignored Dean’s groan of frustration. “What’s _that_ supposed to mean?"

Dean’s eyes flickered back toward him. Away again. A muscle in his cheek twitched and he shifted his weight. “I ... Nothing. ’s not important.”

Sam was ready to play that particular game. With Dean as his older brother, who never actually said anything out loud, he had _mastered_ that game. 

He leaned forward, pressing his groin against Dean’s backside, his cock between the cheeks of Dean's ass. Dean gave a little gasp of surprise that turned into a relieved moan when the tip of Sam’s cock finally entered him.

The relief was short-lived because Sam stayed just like that, refused to push in further even as Dean angled his hips back, chasing him. He remained just out of reach, just far enough away to keep Dean on that edge of want without fulfilment.

“No.” His left hand came up around Dean’s neck, palm pressing against his throat, fingers digging into the underside of Dean’s jaw. Tilting his head up. “Tell me.”

He could feel Dean swallowing, breathing hard. “Sometimes,” he began, licking his dry lips, “in the shower, I– I fucked myself with my fingers, imagining it was you.” The last word broke on a moan when Sam’s fingers tightened just a little bit around his throat, his cock pressing deeper at the same time.

Sam was in no way trying to hide the effect Dean’s words had on him. He let the shiver wash over him, gave himself permission to tighten his grip on Dean’s hip, didn’t stop pushing in until he was pressed flush with Dean’s ass. He focused on his breathing. Wanted this to last as long as it possibly could.

He brought his mouth next to Dean’s ear. “How many fingers?”

Dean’s mouth was open, his eyes restless behind closed lids, the muscles of his stomach quivering against Sam’s palm. “Jesus Christ, Sammy,” he breathed, “You feel so good.”

Sam nuzzled Dean’s hair, “I got you,” trailing his wet mouth down to kiss Dean’s naked shoulder. “How many fingers, Dean?” Some of that authoritative tone had crept back into his voice.

“Four.” The word came out of Dean’s mouth like a punch, as if it had been extracted from him by physical force.

“I bet I can make you take more than that.” Sam moved his hips in slow circles, pulling half-way out and slowly pressing back in. “Been thinking about it, too, y’know. And what I’d really like to do is tie you to this bed sometime.”

Dean’s eyes flew open. His body jerked a little but Sam held tight. “Sam–”

“Hands and feet,” Sam ignored him, “So you can barely move and I can do whatever the hell I want to you.”

Dean made a noise in the back of his throat, tiny whimpering sound that made Sam’s spine tingle, made his hips speed up. He stroked his right hand down his brother’s spine, all the way down to the spot south of Dean’s tailbone, right where they were joined, thumbing along the rim. Gathering some left-over lube, he worked two of his fingers in alongside his cock.

Dean twisted away from him, from the intrusion, with a small pained noise. Sam wrapped his free arm around Dean’s middle, dragging him back against his chest.

Dean’s body jerked again. “Asshole.” His teeth were set, his voice was shaky and too breathless to do any damage, fingernails digging crescent shapes into Sam’s thighs. Sam had never been this turned on in his life.

Dean was _tight_. He managed to change the angle a little bit, bearing down on each thrust. Dean’s lips were pressed together but he couldn’t muffle the small mewling sounds that escaped him every time Sam’s cock rubbed along his prostate.

Sam let his teeth scrape against Dean’s shoulder. “I told you I’d make you take more. You haven’t even heard the best part yet.”

Dean stayed silent but his shoulders tensed, goosebumps breaking out on his skin.

“So I got you tied up and I already fucked you twice and when you’re all spent and relaxed, I’ll slide my fingers back in, feeling how stretched you are, and I’ll keep adding more until you can take my whole hand. Think you could, Dean?”

Dean inhaled sharply, his posture stiffening, and his voice almost stumbled over the words, “No.”

Sam shushed him softly, tracing Dean's jaw with his thumb before turning his face to the side so they could come together in a kiss. The angle was awkward at best but Dean latched onto him instantly, kissing him deeply.

“You sure that’s not even a little bit tempting?” Sam whispered the words against Dean’s spit-slick mouth. Dean swallowed and shook his head jerkily but it was obvious that he was struggling. 

“I’d give you a safe word,” Sam continued, “But you won’t use it because you love it. You’ll just ask me for more and I’ll keep telling you how beautiful you are, how good you’re being for me, and how much I love you.”

Dean whined. A pitiful, wounded sound. “Sam. Stop talking.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m gonna come.”

Dean looked up at him. Sam could barely make out any green in his eyes, it had all been reduced to a narrow rim around the circle of black, and Dean kept blinking as if he couldn’t focus. His face and neck were flushed. His cock, which he hadn’t touched once, was jutting up from his groin, pink and veiny.

He looked magnificent, dishevelled and wrecked, utterly gorgeous.

Sam kissed him again, more a press of lips, breathing against each other, than a real kiss. “When you fingered yourself in the shower... Did you come from just that?"

Dean admitted, “Coupl’a times,” his voice so low and scratchy that Sam had to strain to make out the words.

“Think you can come just from my cock?”

Dean’s head gave a little jerk that Sam took as a nod. He nestled himself as tightly as possible against Dean’s ass, using both hands now to keep hold of his brother’s hips. It wasn’t the best position they could have chosen but Sam liked having Dean pressed up against his front, curved spine fitting itself to Sam’s chest, and he made do.

He was done teasing. His own need for release was near overwhelming, orgasm building up quickly, and Dean was writhing against him, severing the last thread of his self-control.

Sam snapped his hips and both of them moaned in unison. Dean kept shouting out curses while Sam gritted his teeth and set a punishing pace.

Dean’s orgasm hit after the fourth or the fifth stroke. Long, hot spurts of white coating the blanket and part of Dean’s thigh while a noise not unlike a sob wrenched from his mouth. He reached his hand back and dug his fingers into the swell of Sam’s ass.

Dean holding on to him like that made it nearly impossible for Sam to move but the tightness and spasms of Dean clenching around his cock were enough for Sam to lose it as well. He wrapped his arms around his brother in a crushing hug and buried his face in Dean’s sweaty hair, breathing in the smell of him.

By the time he had ridden out most of the aftershocks he became distantly aware of Dean’s fingers stroking his arm, touch light as a feather.

Sam sighed with contentment, pressed a kiss right below Dean’s ear, sweet in comparison to everything that had preceded it. Dean was slumped against him, not making a move to extricate himself from Sam. His head lolled back against Sam’s shoulder, eyes half-open, cast to the ceiling.

The smell of sweat and sex was lingering thickly. They were sticky and disgusting and the bed needed redressing but Sam couldn’t have moved if he had wanted to. Not that he particularly wanted to. 

"Wow," Dean said and he actually sounded a little awed. It dragged a breathy chuckle out of Sam.

"Basically," he agreed.

“Jesus, little brother.” Dean gave a breathy laugh. “Where the hell’d that come from?”

Sam couldn’t see Dean’s eyes but he felt him breathing against his neck. 

Despite their mutual exhaustion, comfort ended up winning and they took a quick shower to at least get the stickiness off. When they were done, Sam grabbed his brother and tugged him along to his own room because there was no way in hell either of them was in any position to change the sheets on Dean’s bed before they had had some sleep.

The high was wearing off quickly and Sam had to work hard to secure all his limbs, heavy with exhaustion, under the blanket. Dean grumbled something indecipherable and slid in next to him. 

About to wrap Dean up in his arms, he reached over to the lamp to turn it off. That’s when Dean went rigid against him.

“Shit, Sam, I told you to be careful,” Dean’s face, peacefully relaxed until a mere two seconds ago, was now marred by deep furrowed lines on his forehead. “You ripped your stitches!”

Sam looked down at his chest, at the white gauze, and there was red circle of blood forming right in the middle. It didn’t hurt, he hadn’t even noticed, and he was fairly positive he hadn't done much damage.

“No, I didn’t. It’s just bleeding a little. It’s probably gonna do that for awhile. Stop fussing.”

Dean growled, “I’m not fussing. If I have to restitch it, I’m kicking your ass. I fucking _warned_ you.”

“Dean, I’m tired. It’s fine, just leave it.”

“Just let me check it and find a new bandage.” He was already out of the bed and half-way to the door while talking.

Sam sighed and leaned back. He was dozing comfortably when Dean came back and let his brother’s deft fingers loosen the tape to remove the wrapping.

Sam grabbed Dean’s wrist before he could apply the clean gauze. “I’ll let you redress it when you come here after and let me cuddle you without complaint.”

It was ridiculous really since Dean had practically finished already but he nodded anyway, rolling his eyes as if it was such a hardship.

Sam smiled to himself and patiently waited for Dean to put away the supplies before impatiently tugging him into bed and moving around until he could use his chest as a pillow. He could feel the rumble of Dean’s laugh against his cheek but a moment later, a hand was in his hair, stroking through it.

His own hand was splayed flat across Dean’s stomach that was rising and falling evenly with every breath Dean took. Sam managed to count twenty-two breaths before he fell asleep.


End file.
